The city of Asterin gleamed like a thousand suns scattered across black velvet. Lanterns floated in the night sky, each lit with a silent prayer and a story untold. Herzl and Kael stood at the city gates, gazing up at the spectacle with awe—this was unlike any kingdom or republic they had known. Here, war was not history—it was myth.
They passed through crowded markets where vendors wore silver-threaded robes and offered spices that made your skin tingle. Children laughed and chased painted birds through alleyways, while scholars debated poetry and physics in open courtyards.
"This place feels like a dream that refuses to end," Kael murmured, cupping a drink that shimmered between crimson and blue.
"And yet… even dreams hold darkness beneath the veil," Herzl replied quietly.
They were welcomed by Elya, a former royal cartographer, who had long since abandoned maps for myths. She took them in, offering warm food and a place to rest. But her walls were lined with strange relics: maps that shifted under moonlight, books that erased themselves, and a cracked lens said to show "what is forgotten."
That night, during the Lantern Festival, every citizen sent a light into the sky. Elya handed Herzl and Kael lanterns made from sunwood bark and fireglass.
"What do we write?" Kael asked.
"Not what you remember," Elya said. "What you want to be remembered for."
Herzl hesitated. He thought of war, of Elira, of the endless nights when he couldn't sleep because the faces of enemies and friends blurred together. He didn't want to be remembered for what he had destroyed.
So he wrote:
"Builder of new roads. Keeper of names."
Kael scribbled his message, then grinned.
"He who laughed at the edge of the world."
The lanterns rose. Hundreds of them, casting the city in a soft, gold glow.
But peace is often a curtain pulled tight over shaking bones.
Later that night, Herzl stepped outside to find a beggar waiting at the edge of the steps, his eyes pale, his voice hollow:
"The world doesn't forget its warriors. It just waits to call them back."
The man handed Herzl a scroll sealed with obsidian wax and vanished into the crowd.
Herzl opened it slowly. Inside were only seven words:
"The Veiled Path walks again. Watch the moon."
And far above, the lanterns burned like warning stars in a quiet sky.